


Greetings, Star-Lord

by Merideath



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 1980s, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Fluff, Introvert, the author is fandom old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2019-01-09 20:08:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12283500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merideath/pseuds/Merideath
Summary: Parties are the actual worst.





	Greetings, Star-Lord

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CatrinaSL](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatrinaSL/gifts).



> I asked CatrinaSL for a little prompt to write a little fic as I feel terribly out of practice. Consider my writing of soulmates au cherry popped. 
> 
> Thanks go to Aenaria for the beta reading. All mistakes left are my own and my damn phone. 
> 
> Thank you, everyone who reads my fic and comments and/or leaves kudos. I appreciate every one even though I rarely have the spoons to reply. I really wish I did as you are all wonderful.

“One more hour then we need to check the numbers in the lab,” Jane promises.  
  
Darcy’s heart shrinks, like a little bit of plastic in the oven. She closes her eyes, and imagines the sound of the fake smile, she’s been wearing all night, as it shatters on the shiny floor. Gods, parties are the worst.

“Jane, I’m done,” Darcy says, not caring how nasally her voice is. Jane rolls her eyes.

“The party music is literally killing me. Also, my feet. These shoes were a mistake. I think they made them out of razor blades and salt.” She lifts her foot off the floor and rotates her ankle showing off a pink heel and frilly lace sock. The socks were new but the shoes were vintage, like the Gunne Sax prairie dress she borrowed from her mom. At three bucks they were a steal, but now she wasn’t so certain the things weren’t cursed.

“I told you not to wear them,” Jane hisses behind her champagne flute.

“They’re perfect for this nightmare 80s themed hell. I mean it’s like we’re trapped in Tony Stark’s personal playlist. Besides you’re wearing heels and I was so not going to be the shortest person here,” Darcy says waving her arm around at The Party. Capital letters, and all that. It was a Stark shindig with interstellar guests, after all.

Darcy’s eyes snag on the small anthropomorphised raccoon. Was it actually anthropomorphism if the creature in question was an honest to blog alien? “Okay, second shortest. Whatever.”

“It’s an 80s themed party. You’re supposed to wanna have fun,” Jane says. The bangles climbing up Jane’s wrists jangle merrily as she does a little shimmy.

“So, you’d think, Cyndi,” Darcy sighs. It’s not that the party is awful, it’s just full of people and noise and all she wants to do is sneak back to the hotel and curl up with a crappy movie. Introvert problems.

“I’m gonna go drown my sorrows in lactose.”

“Be nice,” Jane calls over her shoulder.

“I’m always nice to free food.”

Cheese makes everything better. Or close enough that Darcy isn’t quite ready to set fire to the bar and run for it. She might have a very low tolerance for parties and general peopling, but Stark had the best caterers.

In the minute it took Darcy to cross the room Jane had attached herself to Helen Cho. Darcy couldn’t help but smile a little at the rapidfire science flirting she imagines going on. The two scientists were not only brilliant but Helen is one of Jane’s soulmates. Helen’s words wrap around Jane’s upper right arm. Thor’s curl around Jane’s neck, a torc made of words in looping Asgardian script.

Planting herself along the wall near the ginormous cheese ball, like a good little flower, she hums along to Pat Benatar’s Heartbreaker. Nibbling on a cracker piled high with cheese she wraps the ties of her prarie dress around the fingers of her free hand. Darcy considers slinking off before Jane remembers that she promised to stay. Ugh.

A figure looms up beside her and Darcy flicks her eyes up, and up, and way back down. Peter ‘Star-Lord’...Quinn? Quigley? It was almost definitely a Q name and Roquefort ‘for-the-love-of-Zuul-don’t-call-him-a-raccoon.

Why was she the worst at remembering names?

“See, I told you there was more food,” Nyquill says to his furry companion.

“I don’t think this qualifies as food,” the furball says.

Darcy snorts and Star-Lord’s eyes swing over to her. Frick.

Don’t do it.

“Greetings, Star-Lord. You have been recruited by the Star League to defend the frontier against Xur and the Ko-Dan armada,” Darcy says in her best 80s video game voice.

He blinks twice, jaw fishes open but no sound comes out. Thank Thor he’s pretty. And tall, over six feet which seemed to be the height requirement for seven of nine superheroes in the vicinity. Nice eyes too and he’s thick. Double ‘c’ no ‘k’.

“I can’t believe you just said that,” Peter spits out. Literally.

Gross.

And rude.

And those were her words.

Darcy doesn’t flinch. It’s not the first time she’s heard the words that mark her skin in rough block letters over her ribcage. Not even close. But still she feels a whisper of them tickling over her flesh like a spider’s web. Heat burns into her cheeks and she regrets speaking, the party, and every bad choice she ever made. “It’s The Last Starfighter.”

“No, duh.”

“Oookay, then,” Darcy says flatly. She was about a minute shy of ‘caught in a bear trap gnawing off a limb’ levels of awkward. Nah, never mind. She’s done. One hundred percent done. Done with uncomfortable shoes, peopling, and weird heroes from outer space or Ohio or Kansas or wherever that say words that are and are not her words.

Not even the power of the little tree child attacking the Delorean ice sculpture was keeping Darcy there one minute more.

“I’d say it’s been nice meeting you, Quail, but I don’t really have it in me to care.”

...

“But they’re my words,” Peter sputters after the pretty girl. He didn’t even get a name. Damn it.

“Bwhaha, you’re an idiot, Quill,” Rocket says wiping mock tears from his eyes.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The Last Statfighter is the best and now I must go see if it’s avalible on Netflix or Amazon Prime.


End file.
